


Playin' Possum

by ArcticLucie



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Adorable Judith Grimes, Alternate Universe - No Zombie Apocalypse, Carl is a Little Shit, Family Feels, Fluff and Smut, Judith has everyone wrapped around her finger, Love at First Sight, M/M, Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-01
Updated: 2018-07-15
Packaged: 2019-02-09 01:11:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,445
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12876993
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ArcticLucie/pseuds/ArcticLucie
Summary: The harrowing misadventures of Mr. Pickles, the matchmaking possum from hell.Or the one where Rick has a troublesome possum problem, which just so happens to be Daryl’s specialty.





	1. Mr. Pickles

**Author's Note:**

> This was supposed to be a one-shot, but it wouldn't cooperate. So I'm gonna go ahead and post this first bit and hope I finish the rest. Kinda sorta beta'd by MermaidSheenaz and LilVixen25 like _"years"_ ago.

Out of all the horrible ways to be roused from sleep, Rick knew getting whacked in the nuts by the bony knee of a terrified four-year old had to rank pretty fucking high on the list. His whole body screamed in agony when Judith pounced on him, and he was fairly certain it triggered an out of body experience—because men just weren’t equipped to handle that kind of pain—but at least he somehow kept from throwing her across the room.

He didn’t know which one of their cries woke Carl, but the teen came running into his room with a hockey stick at the ready. Rick would’ve been proud if Carl hadn’t turned the light on and blinded him. After a shitty shift at work, he’d hoped for a decent night’s sleep, but the universe obviously had other plans.

“Is the _monster_ back?” Carl asked as Rick blinked the spots out of his vision. Carl made his way over to the bed and began consoling Judith while Rick regained his composure—and feeling in his lower body.

After a _very_ slow walk to the kitchen for some frozen peas for his junk, Rick found the kids in Judith’s room, a flashlight shining out the window as Judith tried to describe the monster with the beady eyes she’d seen outside. The neighbor’s dog had woken her up several times over the past two weeks barking by her window. Rick suspected a raccoon or a rat or something, but dealing with vermin of the nonhuman variety veered a little out of his comfort zone.

“I don’t see anything, Jude,” Carl assured her.

“I ain’t lyin’, Corl,” Judith said, stomping her foot reminiscent of Lori.

“He didn’t say ya were, Sweetheart,” Rick interrupted, limping toward the window to have a look himself. “But I told ya a hundred times that monsters aren’t real. It’s probably just a wild animal.”

Judith pouted her little lips and put on her best wide-eyed frown. “Can I sleep with you, Daddy?”

“Promise not ta jump on me again?”

She nodded while Carl rolled his eyes and huffed, “I’m going back to bed.”

“G’night, Corl. Daddy, don’ forget Ms. Peaches,” Judith instructed as she led the way out of her room, her head held high in victory.

Rick couldn’t pinpoint the exact moment she became the boss of the house, but he grabbed the stuffed turtle off her bed and groaned at the thought of tiny feet kicking him all night long. If he wanted a decent night’s sleep anytime soon, he’d need to do something about that damn pest.

***

Rick spent the next two days asking around for the best way to get rid of whatever he had living in his backyard, but not knowing made things a little more challenging. That changed on the third night when he got an up close and personal look at their backyard invader.

After putting Judith to bed, he went into the kitchen to wash dishes. He’d hoped for a quiet night, but when the barking started, he dropped the sponge, grabbed a flashlight out of the drawer, and ran outside. That’s when he saw it: the beady black eyes and long snout of a possum frozen like a statue as it balanced on the fence.

“Sweet Jesus, yer ugly!”

“Dad, what is it?” Carl asked, stepping onto the porch.

“Just a possum.”

_Just a possum?_

What the hell was he supposed to do with a possum? He thought about shooting it, but by the time he retrieved his gun from inside, the fucker might’ve escaped, and he didn’t know the first thing about trapping or catching possums. So after Carl took a few pictures—and tried to poke it with a stick—they went back inside.

Now that he’d seen the thing, he didn’t want it running around where Judith played. Especially after Google informed him of all the diseases possums carried.

“Do me a favor and don’t show those pictures to Judy,” Rick said, joining Carl on the couch after he finished the dishes.

“Dad, come on. It’s just a stupid possum. And it’s better than her thinking it’s a monster.”

“Fair point…. Jus’ don’t scare her with ‘em, okay?”

Carl sighed out a “Fine” just as his phone pinged with a text message. “Shane said he’ll come down this weekend and take care of it.”

Rick bristled at the mention of his ex-best friend. “Take care ‘a what?”

“The possum.”

“I don’t need Shane to take care of anythang around here,” he snapped.

Hadn’t that fucker done enough damage to his pride? To his family?

“Sorry, Carl. ‘M just tired. Think I’ll try for an early night.” He stretched as he stood, popping his back in the process. God, he needed at least one good night of uninterrupted sleep. They all did. “Don’t stay up too late, son.”

“Yeah, dad. G’night.”

“Night.”

Rick checked the locks and turned off most of the lights on his way to his room. After brushing his teeth, he wasted twenty minutes of his early night looking up possible pest removers. But when he could no longer keep his eyes open, he tossed his phone on the side table and surrendered to a fitful sleep, though it didn’t last because that damn possum pulled an Inception on his dreams.

He woke up in a cold sweat from a possum-fueled nightmare just after midnight and suddenly gained a newfound understanding of how Judith must’ve felt the past few weeks. Good thing he had the weekend off, because by the end of it, he vowed to make sure that disease-riddled critter went to meet its maker, even if he had to swallow what little of his pride remained and call Shane to do it for him.

Last resort, but he’d do it. For Judith’s sake.

***

The next day, Rick sat at his desk eating a bologna sandwich as he browsed the Internet for possum hunting tips. “Any of y’all know how ta deal with possums?” he asked no one in particular.

“Wha’s it worth to ya?” asked a gruff voice from behind him. He spun in his chair to find Merle Dixon cuffed to a desk looking rough and possibly inebriated. Rick didn’t feel like messing with the ornery sonofabitch today, especially since he was Tyreese and Tara’s collar to deal with this time around.

“Not enough to ask you for help, Dixon,” Rick replied before stuffing the last bite of sandwich into his mouth

“Suit yerself, but my baby brother’s got a damn fine set a’ skills. He can fix yer car, fix yer house. An’ he knows how ta hunt all sorts a shit. He might be willin’ ta help you out… if the price were right. But he won’t suck yer dick though, cos we’re kosher.”

Rick scoffed at the lewd comment. “I find that hard to believe.”

“The fuck you jus’ say?”

“Said I ain’t interested.”

“Yeah, I guess a high ‘n mighty pig like yerself don’t need no help from us common folk, huh?” Merle taunted. “‘M sure ya got it _allllll_ under control. Ain’t that right, Office Friendly?”

Rick glowered at him and spun back around, but Merle kept bragging about all the animals his brother had killed in the last month. Rick didn’t trust him as far as he could throw him, so when he got fed up with the sound of Merle’s voice, he grabbed his phone and headed outside to call the kids.

“Hey, Carl. Is everything okay at the house?”

He could almost hear his son rolling his eyes through the phone. Teenagers. 

“Yeah, dad, just like the last time you called.”

“Did Judith eat lunch?”

“Peanut butter and jelly and an applesauce pouch.”

He smiled when he heard her babbling in the background. “What’s she talkin’ about?”

“Oh, that… well, I showed her the pictures of the possum and….”

Rick didn’t like the sound of that pause. “And what?”

“She named it. I told her not to but she did anyway.”

“His name is Mr. Pickles!” he heard Judith yell into the phone.

“Yeah, another food,” Carl said before adding in a dull, “How original,” under his breath. “She said it’s because he could be sweet or sour.”

“Hey, you tell her he’s a filthy, _sour_ rodent. Wait, no, don’t tell her that.... Tell her wild animals don’t have names.”

“You tell her. She’s already picking out clothes for it. I think she wants to keep it.”

Rick pinched the bridge of his nose. “‘Course she does.” Just great. He had a bad feeling he’d probably end up getting her a puppy to act as a possum stand-in before the dust even settled on the pest’s disgusting corpse. “I’ll handle it when I get home. Jus’ don’t encourage her.

“She’s got an active imagination, Dad.”

“Yeah, uh huh. Wonder where she gets it from.”

“She wants to go outside and look for him.”

“Carl!”

“Sorry, Dad. Gotta go!”

“Brat!”

He sighed as he slid his phone back in his pocket and leaned up against the wall. How did this whole possum situation keep getting worse?

“Was that Carl?” Morgan asked, joining Rick in the little sliver of shade under the building’s awning.

“Yeah… say, do you know anythang about gettin’ rid of possums?”

“No, but maybe you can ask Merle’s brother. I hear he’s good at trapping and hunting things.”

Rick groaned. “‘M desperate, but I don’t think I’m Dixon desperate.”

Morgan smirked and pushed away from the wall. “Okay, but when ya are, let me know. ‘Cause I’d love to see it.”

***

Rick tried to talk to Judith about naming wild animals when he got home from work, but he didn’t think he got through to her. And he knew he didn’t went she came running into his room at a quarter to two talking a mile a minute.

“Whoa, slow down, Judith,” he said, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. “Did the possum—”

“Mr. Pickles!”

“Jude, _possums_ don’t have names,” he insisted. “And did it wake ya?”

She huffed and nodded. He could just make out the pout of her bottom lip in the moonlight.

“He’s outside, Daddy. Ya gotta catch ‘im for me,” she demanded.

“Judith Grimes, I am not catchin’ you a dirty possum!”

For the second night in a row, Rick found himself chasing off a possum in the dark of night wearing nothing but an old t-shirt and a ratty pair of boxers. Judith had cried herself back to sleep courtesy of a temper tantrum, which meant one less thing to deal with when he got back inside, but he could sense Carl judging him as they passed in the hallway.

He didn’t think he could take another night of it all, so when he got a text from Shane during breakfast the next morning saying he’d be over to take care of things that evening, Rick knew it was time for drastic measures.

***

“Merle… Merle! Wake the fuck up,” Rick said, running a bully stick across the bars of the holding cell.

“What the hell you want, pig?” Merle bemoaned as he sat up.

“I….” Rick took a breath. No turning back now. “I need your brother’s number.”

“What for?”

“For the possum.”

“What possum?”

“Christ, Merle! How high were you yesterday?”

Merle’s wide grin pretty much answered his question.

“I got a possum I need taken care of and ya said your brother could help.”

“For a price.”

“Yeah, I’ll give ‘im whatever he wants.” 

Merle grinned again, and Rick swore he saw dollar signs pop up in his eyes. 

“Within reason.”

“Deal, but he ain’t suckin’ yer dick.”

Rick rolled his eyes. “Yeah, yeah, ya said that already.”

“I did?”

“Merle, jus’ give me his number so we can both get on with our lives.”

***

Rick hadn’t even made it back to his car before he fired off the first text to Daryl. It went something like: _Ur brother gave me ur number. I got a rogue possum he said you could help me with. I'm desperate!_

A few minutes later he got one back: _Address?_

He hesitated to reply. Did he really want a Dixon knowing where he lived? Did he really want to bring one into his home? To where his children slept? But then he remembered how none of them were exactly sleeping well as of late. So he took a chance and sent Daryl his address. _I’ll be home all day_

_b there @ 2_

Rick let out a sigh of relief. Great. Now he could tell Shane to fuck off and start on his quest to find Judith a puppy… that possibly looked like a possum.

***

Rick’s nervous energy had him cleaning the house in anticipation of Daryl’s arrival. Not that he needed to impress a Dixon, but it gave him something to do. He even made the kids clean their rooms, which usually came with a battle that included fire and brimstone, though they must’ve sensed his apprehension today and didn’t put up much of a fight.

Carl flopped down on the couch and popped open a soda, the noise drawing Rick’s attention from the window he stood watch over as they waited.

“Don’t know why you’re gonna pay someone for something Shane could do for free,” Carl said. Rick’s glare had him sinking just a tab bit further into the couch.

“I think you know why.”

Carl shrugged and took a long swig from his can while Rick resumed his watch. He knew Carl resented having to spend the summer with him away from his friends and the rest of “civilization” as Carl liked to remind him on a daily basis, but he didn’t have to be a little shit about it twenty-four hours a day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by my run-in with the real [Mr. Pickles.](https://www.instagram.com/p/BSQKdYODPz4/?taken-by=luciearcherwrites)


	2. Lizard Brain

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rick gives Daryl a hard time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Emphasis on the _hard!_

Daryl eyed the police cruiser in the driveway as he pulled his bike up beside it. The possibility of a sting sprung to mind and he hesitated turning off the engine. Everyone within a hundred miles of their small town knew cops and Dixons didn’t exactly get along. But he didn’t have any warrants out, and with Merle already in jail, he didn’t think he had anything to worry about in that regard.

Though perhaps he should start vetting his customers better. He hadn’t even gotten a name, just an address, but he figured catching a possum wouldn’t take him more than an hour or two. He could do it in his sleep. So he shrugged off his worries and let the rumble of his bike die between his thighs.

The front door swung open as he made his way up the walk, and Daryl half expected to see a deputy in uniform on the other side, beer belly hanging over his gun belt and a fucking donut in his hand. But the icy blue eyes of the sexiest man he’d ever seen greeted him instead, stopping him cold, like the paralyzing sting from Cupid’s quiver or some equally ridiculous bullshit.

He could’ve stood there froze in place at the bottom of the porch steps for a lifetime studying every last detail of the masterpiece in front of him, but before he had a chance to ruminate on the concept of love at first sight—and the much more controversial topic of falling for a cop—the man spoke, voice like a goddamn angel.

“You must be Daryl.”

He nodded, brain running on autopilot, because he couldn’t quite remember at the moment.

“Are ya gonna catch Mr. Pickles?”

Daryl blinked, breaking focus from the baby blues he’d momentarily gotten lost in and honing in on the tiny little thing standing at eye level on the top step. She wore a pale pink dress, hair in messy pigtails, as she stood with her arms crossed, hip cocked out looking ready to turn him away if he answered her incorrectly.

He looked back at Blue Eyes, noticing the absence of a ring despite the presence of a kid.

“Judith, I told ya not ta call him that!” Blue Eye said, swooping forward to pick Judith up. “Sorry about her. Please come in.”

Daryl’s first step took more effort than normal, but as soon as Blue Eyes turned around to lead the way, Daryl couldn’t move fast enough, his body like a magnet desperate to meet its match. Or maybe he just wanted an excuse to get a better look at the man’s ass.

“Oh, I’m Rick, by the way. This is Judith, and that’s Carl,” Rick said, pointing to the uninterested teen on the couch.

Daryl and Carl greeted each other with a grunt as Rick put down Judith.

“Uh, the backyard’s this way,” Rick said, motioning toward the kitchen, “if you wanna have a look.”

And look he did when Rick led him through the house.

Daryl didn’t think he had a chance with a guy like him, a cop with two kids and probably a girlfriend or a baby mama or whatever arrangement straight people had these days. But he could look, eyes drifting from the salt and pepper corkscrews dancing along Rick’s collar past the broad outline of his shoulders down the planes of his back to where they disappeared into the supple curve of his—

“Where’s the cage?” Judith asked, her voice bigger than any child’s had the right to be.

Daryl startled, his train of thought bursting like a bubble. “What cage?”

“The cage for Mr. Pickles.”

“Judith, you are not _keepin’_ the possum,” Rick interjected, Judith’s resulting pout heard more than seen. “She, uh, she thinks it’s her pet.”

Daryl huffed out a laugh. He’d never heard that one before. Usually little girls liked kitties and puppies and fluffy bunnies, not ugly ass wild rodents, but to each their own. “Had a pet rat when I was about her age,” Daryl said, not sure why he felt the need to share. “‘Til it bit my brother… then we ate ‘im.”

“Well, ya can’t eat Mr. Pickles,” Judith snapped. She’d stopped in the doorway and turned to look at him, every inch of her small frame dead set on a fight if she didn’t get her way. He’d seen that posture before. Hell, he’d challenged it more times than he should have, so he knew she meant business.

“Hadn’t planned on it, Sweetheart.”

Judith eyes sparkled with victory as her stern expression turned soft. She took his hand and pulled him past Rick and through the backdoor. The sudden action had Daryl too stunned to object, not used to human contact that didn’t involve fists or blood. And the surprised look in Rick’s eyes only furthered his theory that somehow this petite little girl had put him on a leash after knowing him all of five minutes.

“He lives out there,” Judith explained, pointing to the woods sitting behind their backyard. “He likes ta walk on the fence an’ look through my window.”

Daryl listened as she recounted all her run-ins with the possum, not once loosening the vice grip on his fingers. Rick jumped in from time to time to expand or explain things more clearly, but Judith seemed to have everything under control.

“Whatcha gonna do when ya catch ‘im?” Judith asked after she wrapped up the grand tour.

Daryl felt put on the spot. Usually he’d bring along his crossbow and shoot a bolt or two through the ass of whatever creature his client had a problem with, but that might prove difficult with Judith. He had a bad feeling he’d have to set up a trap and catch the thing, releasing it in some wooded area far away.

He shrugged. “Find him a new home?”

Judith’s hand fell from his as she sniffled. “ ‘M gonna miss ‘im.”

“I know, Darlin’,” Rick said, kneeling down in front of her, “but he needs a new home somewhere in the wild where he can find other possums.” He used his fingers to wipe away a stray tear, and Daryl’s body almost grew ovaries just so they could explode at the sight of it. “After Mr. Pickles gets a new home, we’ll see about gettin’ ya a puppy.”

Her eyes lit up at that. “A puppy?”

Rick smiled at her. “Yeah, a puppy.”

“Can I tell Corl?”

“ ‘Course ya can.”

Without another word, she took off toward the house screaming her brother’s name.

Rick stood, shaking his head fondly as they watched her disappear into the house. “Sorry about her. She gets overly-invested sometimes.”

“ ‘S fine.”

“So how do ya normally do this?” Rick asked.

Their eyes met, and Daryl could’ve sworn he saw tiny fireworks igniting on Rick’s irises. He cleared his throat, deciding to go with option two so he wouldn’t come off as too much of a backwoods hillbilly. “I gotta get my trap from home. Shouldn’t take too long. Then I’ll set it overnight. That should do it. Might take a day or two, dependin’ on how hungry the fucker is.”

“Great, I was hopin’ to take care of it this weekend. About how much will it cost?”

Last possum Daryl removed snagged him two hundred bucks, which he considered the going rate, but if Rick asked, he would’ve probably done it for free. “Uh, guess twenty should cover it.”

“Twu—twenty dollars? That wouldn’t even cover gas money. The guy on the internet wanted three hundred.”

“Consider it the deputy discount.”

Rick grimaced. “That ain’t a discount. It’s highway robbery. How ‘bout one fifty?”

Daryl wasn’t going to argue with that. “Done.”

Rick held his hand out to seal the deal, and when they shook, a spark of electricity jolted through Daryl’s fingertips and went straight to his cock. He pulled his hand away and tried not to think about how Rick’s fingers would feel inside him because he already had enough shit to deal with at the moment. Like figuring out how to walk back to his bike without drawing attention to the tent pole in his jeans.

“I’ll, uh, just take another look around, then run home and get my cage,” Daryl said, hoping to buy himself time to cool down before he had to walk back through the house. Jesus H. Christ, he thought he’d outgrown the need for a cold shower in the middle of the day. But he obviously thought wrong.

***

Daryl sped all the way home knowing he’d need extra time to pull himself together, but as soon as the lukewarm water from the showerhead hit his skin, all he could think about was the sinister bead of sweat he’d noticed rolling down the side of Rick’s neck. And how bad he’d wanted to taste it. So much for the help of a cold shower because he soon had his body lathered up, fingers tightening around his dick as he closed his eyes and imagined they belonged to Rick.

He needed to get it out of his system; just a quick jerk and he’d have his instantaneous infatuation under control. He’d catch the Grimes’s stupid possum then get on with his sexually frustrated existence. Because cops equaled bad news in the Book of Dixon. And he certainly didn’t need the drama that came along with falling for a family man.

Even if said family man had the softest looking lips Daryl had ever laid eyes on and the kindest smile he’d seen on a cop. A wickedly hot cop with a wiry beard he wanted to feel against his thighs as Rick’s hot mouth slid dangerously slow down his thick shaft, those crystalline eyes burning with want just for him.

Daryl could almost see them looking up at him as he picked up the pace. He felt his body tightening with tension, hedonistic tendrils weaving pathways of pleasure through his nerves with every hurried tug. And his whole body shuddered when he imagined the heat of Rick’s breath waft against his skin, whispers of his name carrying as they echoed off the tiles.

He wanted to draw it out, wanted to savor every slide of his hand along his sensitive cock. But he knew he didn’t have the time, so when he felt himself reach the edge, he let his orgasm take over, rushed strokes wringing every last drop of come from him as the water washed away all evidence of his debauchery.

He let his head thud against the tile as he gulped in breaths of humid air. His lizard brain faded into the background, and he wondered how long he could go without it attempting to regain control. He couldn’t remember the last time someone had affected him so completely, but maybe now that he’d gotten his rocks off, he could concentrate on doing the job Rick hired him for.

After toweling off, he picked through his closet for something to wear, something that showed off his biceps but didn’t look like he spent twenty minutes decided on his outfit. He thought about shaving but decided against it, not wanting to go overboard and risk looking like he actually tried.

He loaded up his truck with his crossbow in case he had to change plans, and then dug around in the shed until he found his old trap. It looked a little worse for ware, but it would get the job done. He needed to stop and pick up a can of cat food on the way for bait, and maybe a couple of cans of raviolis for dinner, since his _loving_ brother took their grocery money and probably wasted it in his veins.

Thankful that Merle wasn’t there to tease him about primping like a little bitch, he gave himself one last look in the mirror before leaving the house. When he got to Rick’s, he’d get in, set the trap, and get the hell out. No gawking or staring at enticing beads of sweat or the tight ass he didn’t get nearly enough time to admire.

He had one simple job to do, and it didn’t involve drooling over his customer. _Operation Catch Mr. Pickles_ had officially begun. And all he asked was that the ugly ass marsupial didn’t give him a hard time.

‘Cause it seemed Rick already had that part covered.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You guys are super awesome! Thank you so much for all the wonderful comments and kudos. I had no idea how this would be received, but I'm so happy everyone is enjoying it!


	3. Fuck, Marry, Kill

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rick hatches a plan.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so so much for being patient for this update. Ya know how life goes. :/

Rick shut the front door as soon as Daryl left, mostly to keep from staring at his ass as he walked away—and only a little to keep himself from chasing his motorcycle down the block. Despite feeling like a bumbling fool, he thought he handled himself well in front of Daryl, considering the weak knees and the fact he let Judith do most of the talking—not trusting himself to make coherent sentences.

He’d seen Daryl at the station before, though he hadn’t paid much attention to him then, too concerned with keeping that part of him hidden while he tried to make things with Lori work. But he didn’t have to hide anymore, and good god, Daryl had him wanting to burst out of the bisexual closet wearing nothing but a rainbow flag and a bi stripped condom.

His jeans grew tighter and tighter every time Daryl licked his lips or bit his thumb or grunted at something Judith said. That had Rick wondering what he sounded like in bed, which of course led him to question why Merle had been so adamant Daryl wouldn’t suck his dick. Because Rick felt more than _up_ for the challenge.

“Is the possum gone yet?” Carl asked, dragging Rick kicking and screaming from an embarrassingly dirty daydream.

He cleared his throat. “Nah, he’s gotta go get a cage.”

“Daddy, when are we gonna get Princess Pineapple?” Judith interrupted.

Rick looked down at where she sat on the floor, several stuffed animals lined up in a procession in anticipation of the coronation of the new puppy Rick promised her. “Princess Pineapple?” he questioned.

“Veto,” Carl said.

Rick nodded in agreement. “Judy, we gotta get rid of the possum first. Then probably treat the yard for possum germs.”

He walked toward the kitchen, hoping to avoid any more dog questions for the moment. Daryl would be back soon, and he wanted to think up a way to ask him to stay for dinner that wouldn’t make him sound too desperate, even though it felt like years since he’d dined with an adult, and decades since he’d been naked with one—which was true if he didn’t count Lori.

“How ‘bout we have a cookout tonight?” Rick hollered toward the living room.

He didn’t expect an answer from Carl, because that kid would eat anything he put in front of him. Rick wanted to test that theory with a shoe or something, but he didn’t want to lose one. However, he had a feeling he could wind Judith up with thoughts of S’mores. And if he knew his daughter, she might end up inadvertently inviting Daryl to join them.

Using your children to score dates probably landed on the bad side of the parenting scale, but it had been so long since Rick felt anything akin to flutters in his gut that he considered it worth the risk. Not that it would actually work, and while he did feel some sort of vibe coming off the possum hunter, Rick’s gaydar had almost twenty years of built-up dust to contend with.

“We gotta get ‘mellows, Daddy. Corl ate the whole bag,” Judith said from the doorway, hands on her hips as she tilted her head. He had to laugh when she shot a disgruntled look over her shoulder at her brother. She might’ve vaguely resembled Shane but her mannerisms looked so much like his it almost scared him. 

“Wanna come with?”

Her pigtails bobbed when she nodded.

Rick grabbed the keys and his wallet off the bar. “What anything, Carl?” he asked, knowing he wouldn’t wanted to come along.

“Dr. Peppers.”

“Okay.”

“And pizza rolls.”

Rick rolled his eyes. That boy could eat. “Okay, hopefully we’ll be back before Daryl, but if not, just show ‘im to the backyard.”

***

Rick and Judith took more time at the grocery store than he had anticipated. Judith insisted on the cart with the car on the front of it. He hated that thing because she had a bad habit of jumping out of it when she saw something she couldn’t live without—which always slowed them down—but he agreed only because he wanted her happy and malleable when he planted the seeds for dinner with Daryl.

As it turned out, he didn’t have to work that hard. Everything he put in the cart came with a follow-up question from Judith, most of which centered on her new _best friend_. “Ya think Daryl likes mellows?” “Why’d he eat his rat?” “Does he eat dotdogs?” “How’s he gonna catch Mr. Pickles?”

Under normal circumstances, Rick would let most of what she asked go in one ear and out the other with a grunt or a shrug followed by a mumbled “I don’t know, honey,” but today the subject matter had him quite intrigued.

Or perhaps distracted, because he didn’t notice the beat-up old pickup parked in front of their house until Judith squealed Daryl’s name. “What happened to his motorcycle, Daddy?”

Rick almost snapped his neck when he turned his head to watch Daryl step out of his truck. He’d changed his clothes, his dark wash jeans fitted to his thighs a little snugger than the stained pair of Dickies he’d had on earlier. His black button down had one more button fastened than Rick cared for, but it made Daryl’s shoulders look divine, the taut fabric all but bursting at the seams.

Judith jumped out of the car to greet him, but Rick couldn’t move. He knew his legs would buckle as soon as he tried to stand, though the swelling just below the belt had him more concerned. He palmed himself through his jeans as he tried to get a figurative hold of himself, but then Daryl bent over the back of his truck, his shirt riding up enough to send Rick’s blood pressure through the roof.

He tore his eyes away as he chided himself. The man clearly looked dressed for a date with his boyfriend or girlfriend or whomever, which meant Rick had spent the last hour building Judith’s hopes up only for them to end up crushed. The thought of her throwing a tantrum when she found out her new friend wouldn’t be staying for dinner had his cock making a hasty retreat.

How in the world had he deluded himself into thinking a hot guy like Daryl, that he’d only known ten minutes, would want to spend the evening with him and his wonderfully spoiled hellions? And their disease infested possum? He’d probably set the trap and hightail it out of there. Not that Rick could blame him.

“Judith, come help me with the groceries,” Rick hollered once he’d regained control of his faculties. She surprised him when she obeyed on the first try, but he saw the defiance written under the pout on her face.

“But I was gonna help Daryl,” she huffed as Rick handed her the lightest grocery bags to carry.

“I know, Judy, but I don’t want ya gettin’ in his way.”

“She ain’t in the way,” Daryl said from just a few steps away.

Rick almost jumped out of his skin at Daryl’s sudden proximity. His job trained him to anticipate people approaching, but Daryl had slipped right under his radar like a phantom. A sexy phantom that smelled like a lumberjack, all woodsy with just a dash of smoke.

“Need some help?” Daryl asked, and Rick wondered how long he’d been standing there staring at him like a fool.

“I think we got it,” Rick replied. He grabbed the last bag and shut the car door. “Looks like you already got your hands full.”

Daryl shrugged and held up the cage in his hand. “Ain’t that heavy.”

“Is that a crossbow?” Rick asked, noticing the strap slung over his shoulder.

“Just a last resort.”

Rick nodded, glad that Judith had already started toward the house.

“Sorry I took so long, had ta stop an’ get some cat food for the bait,” Daryl explained.

“ ‘S fine. We had ta go get stuff for dinner anyway.”

The stilted conversation ended with Daryl’s hum, and Rick might’ve filed the sound away in his brain for later use.

“Daddy, Corl won’t open the door,” Judith whined from the porch. She stood on her tippy toes, tiny fingers incessantly pressing the doorbell.

“He’s prolly got his ear buds in,” Rick said as he shifted the grocery bags to fish his keys out of his pocket. Except he fumbled them in the exchange, and when he bent down to scoop them up, he came nose to nose with Daryl who had done the same, their foreheads just millimeters shy of colliding.

Their eyes locked and it reminded Rick of all those stupid romcoms Lori made him watch where the two main characters realized their love for each other in a moment that stretched on forever, but maybe they weren’t that stupid after all because Rick swore all the air left the atmosphere when their fingers brushed, and Jesus Christ, he didn’t know if he wanted Daryl to fuck, marry, or kill his sorry ass.

But all good things came to an end when Carl opened the door, scowl on his face from Judith’s relentless bell ringing. Rick grabbed his keys and stood, clearing his throat before inviting Daryl in.

They hadn’t even made it to the kitchen yet before Judith began her interrogation. “Do ya like S’mores?” she asked Daryl, holding up the bag of marshmallows they bought.

“Who doesn’t?” Daryl replied.

“Me,” Carl grumbled as he flopped back down on the couch.

“Bullshit,” Daryl spat before realizing what he’d said. He shot Rick an apologetic frown. “Sorry, it jus’ came out.”

Rick looked at Carl who had an equally surprised look on his face, the kid obviously not used to people calling him on his, well, bullshit. And before Rick could accept Daryl’s apology, Judith bolted into the kitchen hollering “Swear jar! Swear jar!”

She came back carrying an oversized pickle jar half full of dollar bills. “Ya gotta put a dollar in fer every swear,” she said, holding the jar up for Daryl.

“It’s okay, Jude. He didn’t know the rules,” Rick said.

Daryl smirked at him, a small twinkle in his eye that Rick interpreted to mean _I got this._ “What happens when it gets full?”

Judith’s shoulders slumped. “Daddy gets ta go cartin’.”

“Aww, damn that don’t seem fair.”

Judith looked aghast. “Tha’s two swears!”

Rick tried to hold in a smile, knowing Daryl had done it on purpose, but he couldn’t help it when Daryl winked at him. And maybe he should’ve gotten upset Daryl cursed in front of his daughter, but he had enough trouble trying to keep his knees from going all wobbly when the butterflies took flight in his chest.

Christ, he needed to get a fucking grip. He was a grown ass man after all, not a love-starved puppy ready to lick the face—or ass—of the first guy who passed by. He hadn’t had a crush in decades, and even things in the beginning with Lori hadn’t affected him this much. But looking back, maybe he should’ve taken that as a sign.

After Daryl paid his two-dollar fine, Judith ushered him to the backdoor, which gave Rick time to refocus as he put the groceries away. He wanted to hurry though because Lord only knew what sort of embarrassing information Judith would give up as she followed Daryl around the backyard. Rick only creeped on them a little through the kitchen window, mostly to make sure Judith didn’t get in Daryl’s way, though watching Daryl work had him pouring the poor guy a cold glass of lemonade.

As soon as he stepped foot on the back porch, balancing a sippy cup and two glasses, Judith made a beeline for him, her mouth going a mile a minute in her excitement. “Daryl loves dotdogs! An', an' I said he can have mine and he say, he said no ‘cause I’m still growin’, and I say you can have one of Daddy’s and he said I have ta ask you, so can Daryl have yer dotdog?”

Rick’s eyes went wide as he tried to ignore her accidental euphemism. He looked across the yard toward Daryl, whose blush he contributed to the Georgia heat, but before he could properly invite him for dinner—and brace himself for the inevitable rejection—movement along the wooden fence line caught his attention. 

The next thing he knew, Daryl had disappeared over the other side, and for some stupid reason, Rick found himself secretly hoping that their pesky little possum wouldn’t be so easy to catch.


	4. Die Another Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Daryl goes on the hunt

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for being patient guys!

Daryl’s body reacted on instinct, his inner hunter breaking free of its constraints when it spotted movement in his periphery: the prey, the enemy, the possum. _Mr. Pickles._ Daryl leaped over the wooden fence in a single bound, years of built-up detritus on the other side crunching under his boots. He hadn’t realized he’d picked up his bow until he looked down the sight, his most prized possession an extension of himself.

His eyes narrowed as he scanned the woods before he zeroed in on rustling leaves twenty yards ahead. Then he slipped into stealth mode, each step forward lighter than the last as he crept through the trees, the underbrush thickening as he went along. He took aim at a bush at the base of a tree, his breathing slowing despite the adrenaline of the hunt elevating his pulse.

His finger twitched on the trigger and he felt a bead of sweat trickling down his cheek, but before he could release his bolt, a fluffy brown squirrel bounded from the bush and scurried up the tree. Daryl thought about shooting the little fucker for wasting his time, but for some reason, Rick didn’t strike him as the kind of guy you wooed with gifts of dead woodland creatures.

He looked around to observe his surrounds, trusting he hadn’t lost Mr. Pick— _the possum’s_ trail. A dead squirrel might not have appealed to Rick, but he knew getting rid of the possum would. So he retraced his tracks hoping to pick it up again, and just when he started to berate himself for fucking up the hunt, he saw what looked like the end of possum’s tail curling around a tree.

Confident he had his target locked, he inched forward. The possum continued to scale the tree blissfully unaware of its impending demise and had taken up position on a low branch by the time Daryl closed the gap between them, his bow not once deviating from its mark.

“Yer a fat little fucker,” Daryl whispered to himself. He could eat off that thing for several days and still have a week’s worth of soup from its bones.

But then something stupid happened… his brain started to wander, to curly pigtails and big innocent eyes filled with the tears he knew he’d find if he came strolling back to the Grimes’s with Mr. Pickles skewered on his bolt. His stomach rolled at the thought. He told Judith he’d catch it and set it free, he’d brought the cage and promised her that he wouldn’t hurt it, and his heart had twanged when she smiled up at him like she’d found a kindred spirit, someone who loved that pesky marsupial as much as she did.

And he couldn’t do it, couldn’t make his finger squeeze the trigger.

Sure, he could’ve lied to Judith about it, killed the possum and stashed the body in his truck, but she’d question him, probably interrogate him like her daddy. And he knew she’d get him to break. She’d want to see the body, a live one in the cage. Maybe he’d get lucky and trap another one, but he didn’t want to take that chance.

He groaned and lowered his bow, chastising himself for letting a four year-old get into his head. Of course, that did mean he’d have to come back tomorrow—and maybe the next day—to check the trap. So maybe things would work out better in the end.

With a sigh, he slung his bow over his shoulder and started back toward the house. The thought of looking like a fool showing up empty handed had him second-guessing himself, but that evaporated when he peeked his head over the fence and saw Judith looking right at him, a worried little pout on her face.

Her lip quivered when he finally made it over the fence. “Did ya shoot ‘im?”

“Nah, he climbed up a tree,” Daryl said, strangely okay with the fact he hadn’t.

“I appreciate ya tryin’,” Rick said, drawing his attention.

Daryl nodded and dusted off his jeans in a sly attempt to wipe the sweat from his palms. Rick looked all domesticated standing there holding two glasses of lemonade, blue eyes brimming with gratitude admixed with appreciation, and something indefinable Daryl half convinced himself was attraction.

“I brought ya some lemonade,” Rick said, extending his hand. “It’s still pretty hot out here.”

Daryl took the glass and nodded his thanks. “ ‘M use ta it.” He licked his lips in anticipation of the ice-cold treat, but as soon as he took the first swig, he almost slipped into a diabetic coma.

“Judith made it,” Rick blurted out, no doubt having noticed his sugar-shocked expression.

“ ‘S good.” He gave Judith a nod of approval as she grinned with pride. More sugar than lemon, but he couldn’t complain. No one had ever offered him a glass of lemonade before. Daryl could get used to it, and used to watching the beads of sweat and condensation from Rick’s glass trickle down his throat when he took a drink.

“Daddy says you can stay for dinner,” Judith chirped.

“We got enough ta go around. That is if ya don’t already have plans,” Rick added.

Daryl shook his head. He couldn’t remember the last time he had plans on a Friday night that didn’t include trying to keep Merle outta trouble. But with that fucker locked up again, he actually had some time to himself for a while. Of course he figured that free time would consist of cheap beer and the loving embrace of his own hand, but spending an evening with an easily excitable toddler, a grumpy ass teen, and their smoking hot dad sounded like a step up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know this was a super short chapter but it was giving me sooo much trouble, so I decided to throw in the towel and move on.


End file.
